


cat got my tongue

by timelessidyll



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Magical Realism, Minor Angst, but i couldn't fit him in more, copious amounts of it, i wish hendery had more lines here, some renle if you squint super hard, some swearing? i can't remember, yangyang and renjun are best friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 21:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18821356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelessidyll/pseuds/timelessidyll
Summary: There is a very cute boy standing in his kitchen, the side of his face visible from where he is standing, searching intently through the silverware drawer. Said very cute boy is scrunching his face in confusion over something, and although Yangyang isn’t any safer than he was a minute ago when he realized there was an intruder, at least he can comfort himself with the fact that the person who will kill him is deserving of an angel choir.(or, the magical realism xiaoyang au no one needed)





	cat got my tongue

**Author's Note:**

> YEET I'M BACK AND IT'S A LONG ONE  
> [my twitter!](https://twitter.com/timelessidyll)  
> [my curiouscat!](https://curiouscat.me/timelessidyll)

It’s harmless, Yangyang convinces himself. He’s had a cat before, admittedly only for two months before it escaped, but those were semantics. It can’t be all that difficult to care for a stray. When he saw the little ball of shivering fur curled against the tree outside his apartment, he couldn’t find it in himself to leave it there. So he brings it up to his apartment, all seven pounds of the cat hissing weakly at him and giving him small scratches up and down his arms, and tries to dry it with a towel before letting it huddle in a corner on his couch.

 

Yangyang doesn’t remember caring for a cat being this difficult.

 

“Can you please stop squirming,” he cries exasperatedly, watching as the cat, yet again, slips out his hands and jumps to the floor. It tries to make a run for the balcony door before Yangyang is scooping it up again, wincing at the new additions to the collection on his arms. “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t catch a cold!” The cat, who clearly isn’t understanding a word he says, hisses some more, and Yangyang feels defeat crawling up his spine.

 

He tries blow drying the cat, which goes only infinitesimally better, and decides that trying to warm the cat up immediately is a complete lost cause. So he grabs a spare bowl from his last cat, fills it up with cat food from his last cat, sets it on the ground for the current cat, and decides that he’ll go and write his cinema film critic essay and try not to cry from stress. He gets as far as opening his computer and typing two words into the document before the cat yowls aggressively from the side of his bed, practically ordering him to pick it up.

 

He really doesn’t remember caring for a cat being this demanding.

 

“Renjun, I think I’m going to cry,” Yangyang says into his phone, hoping that the pure exhaustion in his voice is properly represented. Renjun, for his part, snorts gracelessly.

 

“You don’t sound like you’re on the verge of tears. Probably about to drop dead for three hours before your stress wakes you up, but not about to cry.”

 

“You don’t understand, I found a stray cat outside my apartment in the rain and I’ve been trying to take care of it for four hours,” he whines. “I have scratches all over my arms and the cat hasn’t eaten a thing. What if it dies?” His voice has climbed volumes in his hysteria, and he knows Renjun is cringing away from his phone on the other side.

 

“I think you’re being a little overdramatic,” he tells him dryly. “If the cat has enough sense to stay away from you, it has enough sense to not die.”

 

Yangyang pouts. “What do you mean by sense to stay away from me,” he complains, stopping for a moment to push the cat away from the mug on his table and yelping when he gets another scratch for it.

 

“He’s a stray. Of course he’s gonna avoid humans.” Well, he hadn’t necessarily thought of that.

 

“You got one part wrong there,” he says cheekily instead, almost immediately forgetting his sour mood to poke fun at Renjun. “We’re not exactly humans.” Renjun’s groan is the only victory Yangyang gets that day.

 

* * *

Yangyang forgets about the fact that he was going to take the cat to a nearby shelter. University is exhausting, his job is exhausting, and taking care of the stray is exhausting, and all of it numbs his senses and makes him forget that the outside world exists besides going through the motions of existing. On top of all his assignments and hours, he doesn’t have time to be thinking about the fact that he has a cat in his apartment, let alone planning how to get rid of it. It’s become a half-hashed routine to leave out a bowl of cat food and water and refill it twice a day for the cat to eat whenever it pleased, and he usually does it in a state of hazy awareness of his actions.

 

He forgets about the fact that he was going to take the cat to a shelter, and so the cat stays.

 

* * *

He fumbles with his keys for a moment, too caught up in trying to remember the names of the almost 60 bones in the human body, sans repeats of the same bone. The fact that his mind is so far away serves to make hand-eye coordination a struggle, and it takes him a good minute to first find his key and then try to fit it into the lock. He has the distant thought that he must look drunk and, fitting to the image, he starts giggling randomly. The door finally opens, and just as Yangyang is about to congratulate himself on finally making his way back inside his apartment, he hears the microwave opening.

 

He pauses. The microwave has no business opening on its own. In a moment, everything is in sharp clarity, and he hears the clatter of dishes hitting each other and the sound of water being poured from the filter. It’s not what the kitchen of an apartment with only one owner should sound like when said owner is in the doorway. He does the only reasonable thing in this situation; he picks up his shoes and prepares to defend himself.

 

In hindsight, there wasn’t anything a scrawny university sophomore could’ve stood a chance of doing on his own. But Yangyang was still stuck in the fog of pre-med biology and wasn’t anticipating anything like this. It’s probably for the best that, when he peeks around the wall that separates the kitchen from the hall, he pauses in shock. There is a very cute boy standing in his kitchen, the side of his face visible from where he is standing, searching intently through the silverware drawer. Said very cute boy is scrunching his face in confusion over something, and although Yangyang isn’t any safer than he was a minute ago when he realized there was an intruder, at least he can comfort himself with the fact that the person who will kill him is deserving of an angel choir. The aura around him, cherry red and misty, is soothing and calm, and Yangyang unconsciously begins to relax.

 

At that moment, the boy glances up purposefully and looks Yangyang straight in the eye. “Where do you keep your soup spoons?” Yangyang yelps, none too gracefully, and scrambles to back himself against the other side of the hall, thumping into the hollow wall with enough force to wince at the sound. He stares at the boy in horror, forgetting his earlier plan, and his brain unhelpfully supplies the fact that he’s wearing Yangyang’s mustard-colored sweater and his torn up skinny jeans. He’s about to die and all he can focus on is that the boy looks really, really good in his clothes.

 

He keeps staring at him with the same purposeful set of his – Yangyang really wants to smash his own head into a wall for thinking this – perfect eyebrows. “Where do you keep your soup spoons?” he asks again, a single eyebrow rising at Yangyang’s silence. “Do I need to keep searching on my own?”

 

He points at a drawer on the opposite side of the kitchen and he’s taken aback by the fact that he isn’t shaking like a leaf. His whole body is still and calm, a sharp contrast to his mind, and he isn’t sure why. Before he can think of a new course of action, his traitorous mouth decides it wants to hold a nice, civil conversation with the intruder in his apartment.

 

“Who are you?” The boy looks back at him, unaffected by his confusion.

 

“Xiao Dejun,” he says, turning back to the drawer. He pulls out a white soup spoon and analyzes it. “Well, at least now I know you really are a college student and not a drug addict. This spoon is plastic.”

 

Yangyang has the nerve to look offended. “Hey, not everyone can have the grace of a swan! If I had a legitimate soup spoon, I would’ve broken it in two days.” Dejun doesn’t spare him a glance, but he snorts once.

 

“You’re right. I’ve seen you almost knock over a pot while trying to water the plant in it,” he says dryly, and Yangyang is suddenly reminded of the fact that Dejun is a stranger. A stranger who has obviously been watching him. A stalker?

 

He doesn’t like to admit it, but his voice pitches higher when he asks, “How did you get in my house?”

 

Dejun looks at him like he came from the moon, blowing steadily on his spoon of soup. “You brought me inside against my will. The least you can do is let me drink some soup. That dry cat food is tasteless and disgusting.”

 

Cat food. Yangyang isn’t sure if it’s the fog in his brain or the ridiculousness of Dejun’s words, but the next thing he knows, he’s sagging against the wall in a hysterical laughing fit.

 

“What’s so funny? Did I miss something?”

 

“No, oh my–oh my god. Cat food. You’ve been hiding in my house like some creeper and you’ve been eating the cat’s food.” He freezes. Stops his hysterical mind from moving a mile a minute. Pieces together the information he knows. Brought inside against his will. Cat food. Cat. “You’re the cat. Which means you’re a shapeshifter,” he says, realization dawning on him as the boy smirks. Now that he knew to look for it, the boy had the same disinterested gaze and haughty voice inflections. 

 

“That I am,” he says, almost in a sing-song voice. “I was the cat who scratched up your arms and always pushed over your fake plant.” Yangyang sputtered indignantly at the mention of his plant.

 

“It’s not fake!”

 

Dejun levels him with an unimpressed look. “Sure it isn’t.” He shrugs and takes another spoonful of soup. “Sorry for surprising you, but I was getting tired of eating the cat food. Hope you don’t mind that I made some tomato soup for myself.”

 

For only another second, Yangyang stands in the kitchen doorway to let the situation sink in, but once it does, he sighs. “I haven’t gotten nearly enough sleep to deal with this,” he declares, putting his shoes near the door and heading straight for his room. “Eat whatever you want.”

 

“Don’t forget you have an essay due tonight!” Dejun calls just before he shuts the door.

 

* * *

Sometimes Yangyang comes home to a cat and sometimes he comes home to a human, but regardless of the form Dejun takes, he’s always seen lounging on the couch, lips curling into a lazy smile whenever Yangyang enters.

 

“You know you don’t have to stay here,” he says once, raising an eyebrow. Dejun raises a mocking eyebrow in return.

 

“I’m well aware of that,” he teases. “There’s no way you’d be able to hold me captive.” Yangyang rolls his eyes but doesn’t push it, and when he goes to start making rice for dinner, he unconsciously scoops up enough for two.

 

Dejun stays until they finish eating, the dishes are washed, and Yangyang is well on his way to sleep. When he wakes up the next morning, Dejun’s presence is a ghost in the apartment.

 

He tries not to let it bother him.

 

* * *

 

“What do you do when you aren’t leeching off of me?” he asks, measuring two spoons of angel tears into a vial filled with basilisk fang dust, swirling it idly to change the slate gray of the dust into shimmery opalescent and adding it to the small milk pan on his stove. Dejun gives the stove arrangement a cursory glance before training his eyes on Yangyang’s face.

 

“Why are you using your milk pan?” He furrows his eyebrows. “No, why do you have a milk pan?”

 

“Renjun thought it would be a wonderful gag gift.”

 

“Ah,” Dejun says, lips parting in a small o-shape. “He’s the one who doesn’t take your shit.”

 

“That’s one way of putting it,” Yangyang says, snorting, and stirs the contents of the pan exactly three times in the counterclockwise direction. “Also there weren’t any clean pots left. Now answer my question.”

 

“I’m not a uni student if that’s what you’re asking.” Yangyang wants to glance at Dejun, but he needs to be watching the pan to make sure the potion doesn’t turn a sickly burnt orange. Just as it hits the color of red punch, he sprinkles in some mint leaves and lets the concoction sit, turning to Dejun. “I have a job though, don’t worry about that.”

 

“I wasn’t going to ask about that. I wanted to know if you stay here because you like annoying me or because you don’t have a social life.” It’s a nicer, more indirect way of asking if Dejun has a place to go home to, but the shapeshifter answers his underlying question without much fanfare.

 

“I stick around because I like you. I have a perfectly acceptable house to live in, but it’s more fun to be around you. Besides, if I’d up and disappeared one day, you would’ve freaked out.”

 

“So this isn’t because you feel guilty about the scratches you left on me as I tried to save you from the harsh, unforgiving outdoors?”

 

“Of course not. I feel no remorse for that,” Dejun says while smirking. “Besides, annoying you is so much more fun than dealing with whatever checkbook documentation Kun always manages to set me up with.”

 

“Why would he do that?”

 

“Apparently, sirens have an inconvenient habit of leaving splotchy marks of water on their checks that Kun can’t read for the life of him. And I always happen to be the unlucky soul nearest to him when he needs help, so I have to read to him, out loud mind you, that a siren bought a witch’s liver and basilisk eye.” Dejun’s eyes widen and he clamps his mouth shut as he processes what he’d just said. His eyes shift to Yangyang sheepishly. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

 

“Oh, so you guys are part of the black market,” he says lightly, ignoring Dejun’s slip. “It’s not exactly surprising that witch organs get sold like that. Creatures do dumb things in the name of protection, and I’m kind of used to it.”

 

“Yeah but still,” Dejun starts uneasily, leaning on the countertop with his forearms. “I shouldn’t have just. Said it.”

 

“Well, you didn’t kill whoever the witch was, so no harm, no foul, am I right?”

 

“I guess,” he hums, still not looking quite appeased. Yangyang takes it as the best he’ll get and turns back to the stove. He picks up the pan and pours its contents into a rounded flask, stoppering it and setting it aside. Dejun’s eyes follow his movements.

 

“What’s it for?”

 

“Chenle’s been having nightmares again. Renjun wanted me to make something for him to ease the trauma.” His sharp gaze doesn’t leave the flask and he nods absently. Yangyang sighs and looks at the time. “I’m gonna go see if Cheng’s place is open. Wanna come?” His voice betrays the hope he lets blossom in his chest, and if Dejun hears it, he doesn’t say anything about it.

 

“Sure. Hendery can handle the boxing of the selkie skins.”

 

* * *

He doesn’t quite understand. Dejun stays even though he lives with his makeshift family Kun, Sicheng, and Hendery. He talks about Hendery fondly, like a brother who gets in just enough trouble to be considered cute. Kun and Sicheng treat them like their own sons (even though, as per Dejun, they’re only a few years older). But Dejun stays with him, and he doesn’t quite understand.

 

What does he have to offer that they don’t? It would be different if Dejun only showed up once in a moon cycle, but he repeatedly comes back, almost daily but not quite. It’s nice, he muses to himself, but it’s maddening to think about. It’s nice that his apartment smells like Dejun’s kiwi body wash, but it also means he can’t figure out if he’s actually there or not. It’s nice that Dejun leaves little gifts around the house, although he could never figure out if the dead mouse had been a prank or not.

 

Does it mean anything that seeing Dejun makes him happier than seeing anyone else? Should it mean anything? He’s no stranger to crushes – there was a brief moment of his life where he was head over heels for Huang Xuxi, the star forward of the soccer team, and then he found out he was a warlock and Renjun’s distant cousin. That turned him around faster than he thought it would, because apparently the thought of being Renjun’s brother-in-law was too much for him to handle.

 

He’s in denial and he knows it. Liu Yangyang is a sucker for pretty boys with pretty smiles and pretty auras, and Dejun’s might be the prettiest of them all. After all, it’s not every day he finds an aura like Dejun’s, soft and wispy as if he might disappear from existence.

 

* * *

 

The house they’re standing in front of is nondescript, not at all out of place amongst the suburban life around it. If he thinks hard enough, he can imagine a typical family within its walls: two parents and their single child, plus a pet. It’s not too far off the truth, he snickers to himself. Dejun is quite the housepet if his indifference to all of Yangyang’s belongings is any indication. Yangyang thinks he can almost fool himself into believing it isn’t a cover for a black market. 

 

“Are you sure you want to meet them?” Dejun asks, seemingly calm, but Yangyang hears the hint of concern under his words. He supposes it feels too much like being taken home to meet someone’s parents for his own peace of mind, especially since he’s only just figuring out that perhaps, maybe, his blood feels a little hotter around Dejun than it does around anyone else.

 

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Yangyang says confidently, mustering up all the faux courage he has in him to walk to the door and purposefully ring the doorbell. There’s hardly a moment of silence between the last ring and the opening of the door, and a cheerful grinning face greets him. His black hair is parted in the middle and curls slightly at the ends, and his eyes seem to twinkle with un-had mischief, and even without a formal introduction, Yangyang recognizes him from the pictures Dejun had shown him. Bright, golden aura, and even though he hates the color yellow, Yangyang thinks gold fits the boy perfectly.

 

“Hi! Oh my god, you must be Yangyang, Xiaojun has told me so much about you!” the boy starts chattering, opening the door wider and pulling Yangyang inside, mostly ignoring Dejun’s presence and indignant scowl. “He always finds a way to mention you, which is kinda weird but also super cute, and he’s been over at your apartment so much recently that I’ve basically had our room to myself! It’s amazing, so I wanted to thank you for that!”

 

“You need to introduce yourself,” Dejun interrupts when the boy takes a breath to keep talking. “You’ve been talking his ear off and he doesn’t even know you.”

 

“Oh right! I’m Huang Guangheng! But Kun says I have to use a code name for the business, so you should just call me Hendery! Oh, and technically Dejun is Xiaojun, but he probably hasn’t told you that because he likes being himself around you.” Yangyang barely has enough time to let the last statement sink in before Dejun breaks them apart and starts pulling him further into the house. Not unkindly, but forcefully enough that Yangyang thinks he shouldn’t resist.

 

“You can’t steal him away before he’s even met the others,” Dejun berates, and Yangyang somehow manages to keep his face from looking like a flaming, blushing mess. He hardly notices the hall as he passes through it, but the living room Dejun brings him to is far too bright and colorful for him to ignore. In the middle of the bright blues and yellows that fill the room, there’s a white-haired man in plain black clothing. His outfit stands out like a sore thumb, but Yangyang gets the strange impression that his aura fits the room perfectly – sea green and flowy. It reminds him of the ocean.

 

“Kun-gē,” Dejun greets, face easing into a softer smile, and he releases Yangyang’s hand. “I’m glad to see you back.”

 

“Well when you told me you were bringing the infamous Yangyang home for us to meet, I had to make arrangements,” Kun teases, ruffling Dejun’s hair lightly for a moment despite his protests before turning to Yangyang. “It’s nice to finally meet you Yangyang, although I have to say, the things Dejun has shared with us might not be the most glorified stories.”

 

“No offense taken,” Yangyang trails off, unsure what to call Kun, who smiles softly and reaches out a hand to shake.

 

“You can call me gē,” he offers, and Yangyang smiles brightly.

 

“Kun-gē! I’m glad to finally meet you.” Kun lifts an eyebrow.

 

“Oh? He’s told you about us?” He sees Kun’s eyes flicker over to Dejun and guesses he’s wondering how much Dejun has told him. He lets go of Kun’s hand and bounces in place on the balls of his feet.

 

“Oh, definitely. He likes to complain about how Hendery snores and how Sicheng-gē – is it okay if I call him gē? – is always nagging at him to wash the dishes.” Dejun giggles – oh god, his giggle is adorable, Yangyang’s mind screams – and Kun and Hendery laugh too. “Of course, he also told me that you guys sell things like witch bones and werewolf paws, but those are semantics.” He smiles gleefully when the whole room stops and stares at him in shock, and his smile grows when Dejun groans and prepares to receive the lecture Kun is no doubt about to give him. True to his nature, Kun turns on Dejun and starts to sputter about “secrecy” and “shady business,” and Yangyang turns to Hendery innocently. “Was I not supposed to say anything about the black market business?”

 

Hendery chokes back another laugh. “No, but I’m so glad you did.” They look at Dejun again and snicker at the murderous look he sends their way. “Kun-gē, it’s not that big of a deal. If Yangyang knows, Dejun must trust him.” Kun seems to think about it for a minute before relenting.

 

“You better have thought this through,” he warns, turning back to Yangyang. “I’m sorry about that.”

 

“I mean, it’s a risky business. I would be upset if someone went spilling my secrets too,” Yangyang giggles, a hidden barb in his words that was meant to metaphorically stab Dejun in the heart. Dejun catches on to the meaning easily and even takes a dramatic, stumbling step back with a hand over his heart for effect. The smile on Yangyang’s face refuses to dim, and he looks back at Kun. “I brought a gift since this is my first time visiting.”

 

Kun’s eyebrows arch in surprise. “You brought a gift?” Yangyang nods enthusiastically, reaching into his sling bag to find the carefully wrapped vial he’d packed earlier, away from Dejun’s watchful gaze. It’s one of the fancier ones that he uses for more potent potions to take away from the fact that they’re extremely volatile and deadly, although thankfully for everyone involved, the potion inside was relatively tame. By his standards, of course. At the very least, it wouldn’t kill anyone in the room, although he wasn’t sure if anyone had unicorn hair allergies.

 

“It’s a–” he begins to say, although he’s cut off by a gasp from Hendery. He looks over with a raised eyebrow. “What is it?”

 

“The vial is so pretty,” Hendery says, eyes twinkling, and Yangyang’s face crumples from the force of trying to keep from laughing. Hendery reaches out tentatively to grab it, and Yangyang gives it to him easily. As he admires the vial, Yangyang continues his sentence.

 

“As I was saying, it’s a simple transparency potion. I’ve given it enough power to hide a whole person with a single drop on the skin.”

 

“It’s really that powerful?” Hendery asks, tilting the vial and letting the pale blue liquid swirl in the light.

 

Dejun frowns at the potion. “How come I didn’t notice when you made that?”

 

“You were asleep, so I was really quiet and tried not to wake you. It was after the incident with those imps,” Yangyang comments airily even as his eyes and ears sharpen. He remembers all too well the exhaustion on Dejun’s face when he had pushed into his apartment with shallow, bleeding cuts all over his arms and face, and he hadn’t been sure if worse injuries were being covered by his shirt. He doesn’t want to see Dejun get hurt like that ever again, even if it might be part of the job description. He feels Dejun’s concerned look on him, but he focuses on a painting hanging on the opposite wall and pushes the growing anger back down. “I thought it would be helpful.”

 

Kun is staring at him with a plethora of questions swirling in his eyes, but all he asks is, “You made this?”

 

“I’m half witch.” He doesn’t say what the other half is, trusts that Kun didn’t notice the split-second appearance of his natural form and assumes he is half human. His mother is someone he tries to not think about. “I hope it doesn’t have to get used much, but better safe than sorry, right?” He aims for casual, which falls flat on its face, but at the very least no one lingers on it.

 

Part of that is due to the arrival of another man who, the moment he steps through the door, lights up all of Yangyang’s warning signals and triggers his fight or flight response. He oozes the hazy, foggy aura he’s gotten used to feeling around his mother and her entourage whenever she calls him to her ancestral home, and the aura of the fae is one he stays as far away from as possible.

 

Here, he has no choice but to force his muscles to relax and smile and pretend like he isn’t two seconds from making a run for it.

 

“I didn’t know we were having a gathering,” the new man drawls, raising a sharp eyebrow at the room. His voice softens when he directs his voice to Kun, slipping into Mandarin. Yangyang struggles to process the words, but it sounds vaguely like, “You came back early.”

 

“I did,” Kun replies, still talking in Mandarin before switching back to English. “This is Sicheng,” he introduces, and Yangyang mumbles a shaky “hello,” in Mandarin before going quiet. He doesn’t want to offend Sicheng or Kun, but he’s practically itching to jump out of his own skin. It feels like Sicheng’s eyes are constantly on him, following his movements, analyzing his behavior, and he wonders if he’s already figured out that Yangyang is one of them.

 

He’s so lost in his own thoughts that when Dejun waves a hand in front of his face to get him to pay attention, he jumps back in shock, yells an admittedly squeaky, “Mein Gott!”, and crouches down to make himself a smaller target. When the whole room turns to stare at him with confusion, shock, and a little bit of mistrust – courtsey of Sicheng – he clears his throat, straightens himself up, and wills his blush to die. “Sorry, I got a little surprised.”

 

“What did you say?” Sicheng asks tersely, and Yangyang stares back stupefied until his brain decides to get its last brain cell to work.

 

“O-Oh, you meant. That. Thing I said.  Um, I speak German,” he shares nervously, avoiding Sicheng’s eyes and staring at his forehead or his nose. He knows the fae are incredibly observant and notice nervousness easily, but it seems that Sicheng is too busy sizing him up to worry about where his eyes are staring. “I kind of default to it when it takes too much energy to think.” He laughs tightly and is thankful when Dejun tacks on for him.

 

“It’s hilarious because sometimes he’ll come back to the apartment and try to reread his notes and half of the page will be in German,” he cackles, and it manages to break the strange tension he’d begun to feel. Sicheng eases out of his wound-up state and strides across the room to sling an arm around Kun’s shoulders and kiss him on the cheek.

 

“Seriously though, why didn’t I know about this? I would’ve been more prepared,” he pouts, although the blatant childness he’s displaying does nothing to put Yangyang at ease. If anything, it makes him more aware of the fact that the fae can trick you into believing anything.

 

Almost like magic, he feels his phone vibrate. “Actually, I have to leave now,” Yangyang interjects quietly, searching through his backpack to find it. “I need to go meet my partner for our political philosophy presentation.” He bows self-consciously at Kun and Sicheng and gives Dejun and Hendery tight smiles. “Sorry to leave so suddenly.”

 

“That’s alright, Yangyang.” Kun smiles back at him kindly, and Yangyang wonders how they got so accustomed to Sicheng that they didn’t feel like bolting any time he came near. “I’m happy you came to meet us.” He relaxes a little and lets a more genuine smile cross his face.

 

“Thank you for having me,” he says again, turning to walk back to the door and leave. He really does have to meet Renjun at Walter Library or risk being skinned alive. What’s more terrifying is that – in Yangyang’s expert friend-opinion – as a pure-blood witch, Renjun has immaculate control over his aura. It means that his friend never passes up the opportunity to scare him with it when he’s trying to prove a point.

 

Dejun follows him, and Yangyang doesn’t think much of it because he’s only trying to be a generous host. 

 

Dejun stands there, concerned and silent, and he starts to feel antsy.

 

“What happened back there?” he finally asks. 

 

Yangyang decides to play dumb.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lies as he puts his shoes on. He doesn’t need to be looking up to know that Dejun is staring at him.

 

“No, I think you know what I mean,” he says quietly, and when Yangyang makes a move to leave, he doesn’t try to stop him. “We’ll talk about this later.”

 

“There’s nothing to talk about, but sure.” He plasters a fake smile on and waves goodbye to Dejun. The moment he’s out of sight, he frowns and tries to push the encounter with Sicheng far, far out his mind.

 

He isn’t successful by any measure if Renjun’s questioning eyebrow is anything to go by.

 

“Why are you so jittery right now?” he asks, not taking his attention off of Yangyang for even a second.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he answers, steadfastly refusing to make eye contact and focusing on his civics notes. Renjun snorts at his obvious deflection and wiggles his eyebrows.

 

“You know, Chenle knows a guy, who knows another guy, who knows someone who is very dear to Dejun.” Renjun says it so casually that Yangyang knows it’s a hidden threat. “You never know what he might find out.”

 

“You’re despicable.”

 

“And dying to hear your drama. Spill.”

 

Yangyang sighs and lets his head thump onto the desk. “I met a faerie today.” He hears the legs of Renjun’s chair fall back on the ground as he sits straighter.

 

“No way. Did you know them?”

 

“I mean, I got introduced to them if that’s what you mean,” he answers sullenly, remembering the sharpness of Sicheng’s eyes. “He’s part of Dejun’s family.”

 

“Blood-related?”

 

“God, of course not, Renjun,” Yangyang says, exasperation clear in his tone. “If they were blood-related, Dejun would be at least part fae.” Which would make falling in love with him more complicated, he thinks dejectedly.

 

“Well, then, who was it?”

 

“A guy named Sicheng. I think he might be dating Kun? I’m not sure, but he did kiss him on the cheek.”

 

Renjun ponders the information for a moment. “I think I recognize those names. Solomon’s?”

 

“Yeah, I’m guessing they do business there.” They’re careful not to mention anything explicitly about the market, especially in such a public location. Renjun’s outward expression remains neutral for a moment, but Yangyang can see the twinkle in his eyes.

 

“This is the funniest thing I’ve heard in ages,” he ends up snickering, leaning back in his chair again. “They guy you have a massive, planet-sized crush on–”

 

“–he’s not my crush–”

 

“–has a fae in his family. A fae! Yangyang, my dear friend, your life is the most fucked up one I could imagine, but it’s pure entertainment for the rest of us.” Yangyang groans as his protest is ignored and allows his head to thump back into the textbook in front of him.

 

“How did I get stuck with you as a friend?” he mumbles, and Renjun cackles softly.

 

“No one else could ever put up with your overdramatic ass, so be thankful.”

 

It’s three hours later that Yangyang decides that he’s had enough of trickle-down economics’ bullshit and leaves Renjun alone in his struggle to understand the influence of religion on behavioral development (which is his own problem for choosing to pursue a Ph.D. in psychology). He slumps into his apartment, exhausted and brain-dead, and doesn’t have the energy to do more than pour himself a bowl of cereal, milk be damned, and flop onto the couch.

 

Sometime later – he isn’t sure how long he’s been sitting on the couch and staring at the dark tv screen – he’s startled back to alertness by the beeping of the microwave in the kitchen. He cranes his neck back to try and see Dejun, who makes the situation infinitely easier on his neck by walking to the doorway of the kitchen. For a second, he stares at him with his bowl of dry cereal, which has gone practically untouched and is still half full.

 

“Why are you eating dry cereal at 10:30?”

 

“Why are you in my apartment at 10:30?” Yangyang retorts, more so out of habit than actual heat and accusations. Dejun quirks a smile, and even Yangyang has to admit his comeback is pitiful.

 

“Hendery was being annoying about the fact that I wanted to sleep in my bed for once, so I decided to just come over.” He lifts up the bowl in his hands. “I made popcorn and brought a movie over. Care to join me, or are you too tired to handle it?” In all honesty, Dejun’s question isn’t very taunting, but Yangyang is, by nature, a competitive man. So despite the fact that his entire body is screaming to fall into bed and knock itself out, he shifts over on the couch to make room for Dejun.

 

“I have another case of movies in the cupboard below the tv if you wanna keep going,” he says, and Dejun gives him a wide smile, one that scrunched his face up into a picture of pure happiness. Yangyang could only stare helplessly and try not to cry from how overwhelmingly cute it looked.

 

“We’ll see how the night goes.”

 

The night goes something like this: Yangyang doesn’t even make it through the first movie before he nods off with his head resting on Dejun’s shoulder, his almost empty bowl of cereal threatening to slip out of his lap any second. Dejun notes this with fond eyes, and his smile is soft when he slips Yangyang’s head off his shoulder and arranges him on the couch so that he wouldn’t feel too sore when he woke up. He finds a blanket and pillow in his closet and drapes it over Yangyang’s tiny form, and he thinks that he prefers Yangyang when he’s awake. He might be loud and somewhat annoying, but when he’s sleeping, it doesn’t seem like he’s Yangyang at all, his quiet breathing and huddled shape seeming like too much of a contrast to who he really is. He shakes his head, pushes those thoughts out of his head for the time being, and takes their bowls to the kitchen. Before he leaves, he sticks a little note on the microwave buttons where Yangyang couldn’t possibly miss it and turns off the light, the door clicking shut quietly behind him in the empty silence.

 

(Yangyang wakes up the next day and somehow misses the note on the microwave for a whole six hours until he decides to warm up a ramen cup for himself, but even though it’s long after he was meant to find the note, it isn’t enough to stop a sunny smile from overtaking his face.

 

_ If you were that tired, you should’ve said something. You’re lucky I didn’t just leave you in the position you fell asleep in. >:P _

 

Even through a rushed note in the middle of the night, Yangyang can feel Dejun’s exasperated sigh. The emoticon is kind of cute too.)

 

* * *

“So I told you we’d talk about whatever happened at my house, and I think now’s about a good time as any.” Yangyang groans and looks up from the dough he was kneading.

 

“How could you do this to me right now? You aren’t even giving me a chance to escape,” he whines, reaching out toward Dejun with fingers covered in bits and pieces of dough. Dejun shrieks softly and steps further out of reach.

 

“Hey, it isn’t my fault that you tried to push this off for a week! I had to do what I had to do, Yangie. Keep kneading, by the way, it still looks a little dry.” He mumbles some vague comments about how Dejun was an awful house guest but continues to knead, dreading the rest of the conversation that was to follow. “So mind telling me what got you to clam up like that at my house?” Yangyang notes that Dejun actually sounds a bit concerned for him, and he feels vaguely guilty about it. There isn’t much he can do about it, because there’s absolutely no way he can tell Dejun that he recognized Sicheng as a fae and that he’s scared that Kun recognized him as one as well. Searching for a related topic to ask, he latches onto Kun.

 

“I just got a little weirded out by Kun’s aura,” he lies, grimacing at how he’s throwing Kun under the bus. There’s no doubt in his mind that Dejun will be sad about whatever imaginary thing he’s about to say Kun did, and then Kun will feel guilty, and Yangyang can’t even come clean about it.

 

As expected, Dejun’s face falls. “What do you mean?”

 

He decides the best way to go about this would be to mix in some truth. “I can’t really explain it, but it was like. I wasn’t supposed to be there?” Sicheng’s presence had definitely made him feel like he shouldn’t have been there. “Like I was intruding on something that I had no connection to.”

 

“I’m sure Kun didn’t mean to do that,” Dejun says after Yangyang shows no intention of continuing. “I know he can get a little into his own world when Sicheng’s around, but he really doesn’t mean to ignore you or push you away because of it.” Yangyang smiles softly at Dejun and turns his attention back to the dough.

 

“It’s okay, Junjun. I just didn’t know them that well yet, so it felt a little awkward. I’m sure with a little bit of time, it’ll be fine.” Another question pops into his mind and he looks back at Dejun. “What is Kun, anyway? I got some sea vibes from him, but I couldn’t find anything distinctive in his appearance.”

 

Dejun looks a little hesitant, and Yangyang quickly backtracks. “I mean, obviously if it’s too personal, you don’t need to say anything. I’m sorry I asked.”

 

“No, it’s fine. We don’t really tell people what Kun is because he’s more vulnerable in this state, but I don’t think you’ll tell.” Dejun finishes greasing the pan and gives it to Yangyang, who puts the dough in and starts spreading it around. “Kun’s a selkie. He gave his skin to Sicheng, which allowed him to take on his human form.” Yangyang’s eyebrows shoot up. To say he’s surprised is putting it lightly.

 

“Ah, I get it. You’re worried about his skin.”

 

“Yeah. Sicheng is good at keeping it safe, but we’re all protective of him because. Well, we know how easily we could lose him. It’s scary to think of sometimes.” Yangyang nods along to show Dejun that he’s listening, although he doesn’t think he’ll ever fully understand what Dejun and his family are dealing with. The only secret he has to keep is the one about his other side, the one that he doesn’t want to acknowledge or let anyone see.

 

Dejun drops the topic, and Yangyang silently puts the pan in the oven. Out of nowhere, Dejun comes up and hugs him from behind, resting his head on Yangyang’s shoulder. They still don’t say anything. Absently, his hand comes up to pet Dejun’s hair, and they lose themselves in their own thoughts.

 

“Let’s go sit down,” Yangyang finally says, turning around to smooth Dejun’s bangs out of his eyes. “The bread’s gonna take another 40 minutes.”

 

“Can we watch Kimi No Na Wa?” he asks innocently, and Yangyang grins.

 

“I’d never say no to that.” What he really means is ‘I’d never say no to you.’

 

* * *

“What’s up with Sicheng and Kun?” Yangyang asks one day, in between bites of his ice cream. He and Dejun are on a kind-of-date, labeled as such in his head because they may not have said it, but there’s no way Dejun offering to take him out to the movies and then to the parlor is anything else. Dejun watches him with a half-terrified expression.

 

“Why are you biting your ice cream?”

 

“How else am I going to eat it? Licking ice cream is lame and for losers,” he says derisively. “Also Renjun and Chenle act like I killed their family every time I do it, so it’s kinda become a habit.” He takes another bite to emphasize his point and grins when Dejun grimaces. “So how about answering my question?”

 

“Well, it’s kind of vague,” Dejun mumbles, licking up the side of his matcha ice cream cone. “There’s a lot of things going on with them. For example, sometimes Sicheng gets so mad at losing to Kun in Mario Kart that he refuses to let him inside their bedroom. Another time, Kun was upset because Sicheng forgot to pick Hendery up from the airport when he went to go visit some dealers in Hong Kong.”

 

Yangyang stares at him blankly. “You gave Hendery the responsibility of talking to dealers?”

 

“Hey, he’s got his good points in a conversation!”

 

“Yeah, but alone?”

 

Dejun glances around surreptitiously before leaning in. “Just between you and me, his success on that deal was a fluke.” Yangyang snickers as Dejun pulls back, a satisfied smile on his face.

 

“Ok, ok. You still haven’t answered my question, so I guess I’ll rephrase it. Are Kun and Sicheng together?”

 

“Oh, hell yeah. Practically attached at the hip when they’re not traversing the globe and dealing with our foreign traders.”

 

“They seem to do that a lot. Any particular reason?”

 

“Sicheng wanted us to expand our horizons, and Kun wanted to make new connections for more limited offers and deals, so we slowly opened up into the market as an international trader.” Dejun looks at him coyly. “Why the sudden interest?”

 

“What, can’t a guy wanna know more about the family of someone who leeches off of his hospitality?” Yangyang laughs when Dejun gasps in mock hurt and takes the accompanying push easily. Everything feels lighter with Dejun, and his aura is comforting and bright today, but he can’t help but remember Sicheng. A fae. His mood dampens, predictably.

 

“I actually had another question,” he mumbles, spinning his cone listlessly in his hands. Dejun looks at him curiously, silently urging him to go on. “Sicheng is one of the fae, right?” He’s quiet, in case someone overhears them.

 

Slowly, Dejun nods.

 

“That’s what I thought,” Yangyang sighs, taking a bite of his ice cream to give him some time to think. “How did he escape?” is what he settles on. There’s no other way to word it.

 

“What do you mean ‘escaped’?” Dejun stops walking and turns to face Yangyang fully. His ice cream is starting to drip down the waffle cone. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

 

“There’s no way the Court let him go without conditions,” Yangyang says, somewhat bitterly he realizes. “They never let go of their own that easily.”

 

Dejun is frowning, reaching out to grab Yangyang’s hand. “Yangie, what’s going on? You sound–”

 

“–like I know what I’m talking about?” He glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “I guess your surprise means you haven’t figured it out yet?”

 

“Stop talking in riddles.” His voice is short, and Yangyang can tell he’s frustrated that he’s not getting a direct answer.

 

“Dejun, you’re smart enough to figure it out,” he whispers, and in a moment of strange vulnerability, he lets go of part of his illusion. It’s obvious when Dejun sees the change because he hears a shocked gasp, and then feels a finger trace the tapering point of his ears. Just as quickly, he covers his ears with the illusion again.

 

“You’re a fae.”

 

“Half,” he clarifies. “I’m half fae.”

 

“Well, duh,” Dejun snorts. “I’ve seen you cast spells. You’re definitely half witch.” His eyebrows pinch together. “But what does that mean? Why do you need to know how to escape?”

 

He’s silent for a minute, biting his lip and trying to figure out if he should tell him. “It’s not exactly that I need to escape,” he says carefully, “but more like I want to know how he did it. I guess I have it easier than Sicheng since I’m a half-blood. They mostly treat me with disdain, which isn’t a big deal because it’s mutual. But my mom,” he trails off, staring at a crack in between the sections of the sidewalk as if it would expand and swallow him whole. “She’s never really given up on making me part of the Court.” Dejun’s hand is holding his again, and he sighs unsteadily.

 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to keep talking right now,” he says, an understanding smile directed toward him. “Let’s just enjoy our ice cream.” Yangyang frowns at both of their dripping cones.

 

“There isn’t much left to enjoy.”

 

“Aish, you’re a literal toddler. Fine, let’s get a pint from the store and eat it at your apartment.” Yangyang beams at Dejun happily and grips his hand tighter, skipping a little to pull him along.

 

“Come on, then! Sky Castle won’t watch itself!”

 

“That’s not even available in America?”

 

“Oh, Junjun, you have so much to learn.”

 

* * *

In what should have a been a quiet, uneventful night, Yangyang begins to feel antsy. There’s no reason for it – at least not one that’s immediately apparent. Dejun is happily eating his lo mein and chicken, and Yangyang thinks that the black pepper chicken take-out is absolutely delicious, and the movie playing in the background is calm and witty. All in all, it’s a nice, not-quite-date inside, but something feels wrong.

 

“Stop squirming,” Dejun complains when he tries to reach for a piece of Yangyang’s chicken and is foiled when he unconsciously shifts. He blinks, pulled out of his daze, and stares at Dejun for a moment.

 

“Do you feel like something is wrong?”

 

Dejun’s brows pinch together. “Should I be feeling that? I’m not picking up on anything weird.”

 

“I don’t like this,” he stresses, standing up and pacing to try and get rid of his nervous energy. Dejun follows suit when he realizes that Yangyang isn’t going to come and sit down any time soon. Before he can say anything to try and ease his worries, the doorbell rings. To Yangyang, it sounds like a death sentence.

 

“There shouldn’t be anyone at the door,” he says tersely. “We already have our food, Renjun is out at the movies with Chenle and Xuxi, and Ten has a night class. There’s no one I know at that door.”

 

“It might be nothing,” Dejun tries to reassure him, but the bell rings again, more insistently this time.

 

“I can’t be sure.” He turns to Dejun. “Can you shift into a cat and hide?” He might be paranoid, and it might be nothing, but his gut instinct has never steered him astray. “I know I probably sound like I’m out of my mind right now, but please.” Hesitantly, Dejun nods, and not a second later, a black cat is sitting in the place Dejun had just stood. It chirps at him once before darting under the couch, and Yangyang takes a deep breath to calm himself before hiding any evidence that there had been another person in the apartment and approaching the door. He decides to peek through the view hole in the door before opening it to see who had come to find him, and his breath catches in his throat when he recognizes them.

 

The door unlocks loudly in the silence, and Yangyang reluctantly opens it fully to meet his mother’s eyes.

 

“Yangyang,” his mother greets him curtly, an eyebrow raised in expectation.

 

“Mother,” he mumbles half-heartedly. He’d be more sullen if her entourage had come with; as it is, it’s only her, which is one thing he supposes he can be grateful for. “Why are you here?”

 

“Have I taught you nothing of manners?” she fires back, narrowing her eyes. Her black hair is pulled back into a strict bun and red lips pursed in an expression of irritation, and Yangyang despises their similarities.

 

“Of manners, I can’t remember. You weren’t around often enough for that. What you did tell me is that the fae can’t enter a dwelling that doesn’t belong to them, so unless you have a good reason for this, mother, I think I’ll go back to my movie.”

 

“You know what I’m here for, Yangyang. I hope you’ve made your decision.”

 

“And it’s the same as it’s always been. I don’t want to be a part of your Court,” he says heatedly. “I’m not a pawn for your political game, and I doubt I would be of any worth to you.”

 

“You’re more powerful than you think, Yangyang.” His mother’s eyes burned into him. “Your father and I both know this. Your own denial is holding you back, and–”

 

“–Save it, mother. At least appa knows that I would rather lead a quiet and mundane life than understand the extent of my powers. If that’s all you have to say, I have to ask that you leave.” Another few seconds of unspoken insults are exchanged through their eyes before his mother huffs and turns back to the elevator, the sharp click of her heels muffled by the carpet.

 

Yangyang shuts the door and sighs heavily, resting his forehead against it and trying to center himself. He can feel his energy, twisting and uneasy in the space around him, and it agitates him more than he would care to admit. As if from far away, he registers that somebody – Dejun, he reminds himself – is turning him around, and soon after he feels himself being coaxed to sit down on something. The surface dips under his weight, and he rests against the back of the seat and stares blankly, unseeingly, at whatever is in front of him.

 

He doesn’t want to be awake right now. He doesn’t want to process what had just happened. He doesn’t want to see Dejun’s reaction. Faintly, he hears Dejun trying to say something to him.

 

“–yang? Yangyang, come back to me. It’s okay, she’s gone.” Slowly, with the same quiet reassurances uttered endlessly by Dejun, Yangyang comes out of his haze and registers his surroundings. He’s on the couch, and Dejun is in front of him, concern sharp in the set of his lips and eyes. Without thinking, he reaches up to place his fingers on the crease between Dejun’s eyebrows and presses lightly, trying to smooth it away.

 

“You shouldn’t frown like that,” he murmurs, “you’re too pretty to be frowning and giving yourself wrinkles.” Dejun’s face turns pink as he blushes, and Yangyang tilts his head. “Why are you red? Was it something I said?”

 

“No, it’s nothing,” Dejun says, although he sounds slightly flustered. “Are you okay?”

 

“Fine,” Yangyang mumbles, shifting uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know she would decide to drop by.”

 

“You have nothing to be apologizing for,” Dejun protests, finally sitting down next to him. They turn and arrange themselves on the couch until they could comfortably face each other. “You couldn’t have known. I’m sorry I couldn’t say anything.”

 

Yangyang shakes his head. “I don’t want you getting tangled up in this mess. My mother is,” he trails off, trying to think of the best way to describe her. “She’s obsessive. If you’d let her know that you know what’s going on, she might try to use you against me.”

 

“That would imply that I mean enough to you to be an effective bargaining chip,” Dejun retorts, and this makes Yangyang pause.

 

“What do you mean? You mean so much to me, Junjun. There’s no way she wouldn’t be able to see how much I care for you.”

 

“Do I really mean that much to you?” Dejun asks in a whisper, and Yangyang leans forward to rest their foreheads together and smiles.

 

“Of course. What would I do without a voice of reason by my side when I try to microwave metal?” he jokes, and Dejun’s solemn face breaks into a smile.

 

“What would you do indeed. Probably die in a house fire.”

 

“Then it’s a good thing I have you to watch over me.” He catches sight of the clock behind Dejun and sighs. “It’s past 11. You should probably head out.”

 

“Actually, do you mind if I stay tonight? I think I’d feel that you’re safer if I’m closer to you,” he says sheepishly, and Yangyang almost coos at how adorable it is. “And I think you should talk to Sicheng.” That causes Yangyang to freeze.

 

“What? Why?”

 

“You did say he must have figured out how to escape the Court, so if anyone would know how to do it, it’ll be him. You don’t have to do it now, obviously,” he explains with a pointed nod at the door, “but at some point.”

 

Yangyang mulls it over for a bit as he stands up and offers Dejun his hand. “I guess. I’ll think about.”

 

“That’s all I ask,” Dejun assures him, and a moment later, a black cat stood in his place again.

 

“Alright, let’s get to bed.”

 

Strangely enough, having Dejun with him does feel safer. For the first time, he’s able to get a good night’s sleep after a meeting with his mother. 

 

* * *

It’s positively nerve-wracking to stand in front of Dejun’s house without him, and even more nerve-wracking to think about who he’s here to meet. After careful consideration (read: an impulsive decision at 3 am as he studied for a biochem exam), he’d texted Dejun and asked him when Sicheng would be back from his trip. He’d gotten a reply, at a much more reasonable 8 am, saying that he was already back and another three texts asking why he wanted to know. He’d ignored those and, in a sleep-deprived haze, ended up in front of their house at 10 am. He’s not sure he looks even the slightest bit presentable, but at this point it doesn’t matter to him.

 

The door opens and – of course – it’s exactly Yangyang’s luck that Sicheng is the one who greets him.

 

He raises a prim eyebrow, almost condescendingly in Yangyang’s humble opinion. “Dejun’s not home right now.”

 

“I know,” Yangyang answers, refusing the urge to snap at him out of tension. “He’s out with Kun and Hendery.”

 

“So?”

 

“I came here because I wanted to ask you some things.” He refuses to hunch over in Sicheng’s presence and come off as weak, but it’s difficult to continue holding his gaze. For a few seconds, he’s worried Sicheng will tell him to piss off and not bother him again, but instead he opens the door more and steps back.

 

“You’ll want to come inside then.” Yangyang mumbles a muted thanks and steps inside, going through the motions of taking his shoes off and following Sicheng to their living room without much thought. Once they’re seated, though, he becomes hyper-aware of everything. He feels, quite distinctly, the uneasy atmosphere and the distrust oozing out of Sicheng’s aura, and the talisman around his neck and bracelets lining his wrists suddenly feel restrictive.

 

“So what did you want to ask?” His forced politeness hides a hint of aggression, and although Yangyang wants to bristle, he knows it won’t help his cause.

 

He breathes once to calm himself. “How did you escape the Court?” he asks, staring directly at Sicheng and waiting for his reaction. No point in beating around the bush. Sicheng frowns and stiffens, eyebrows pinching together.

 

“What are you talking about.” It’s not a question, Yangyang thinks, but an accusation. He stays firm.

 

“I’m talking about the Fae Court. It’s past the autumn equinox, so the Court must be led by the Unseelies now.” He thins his lips thinking about it. “It’s my guess that you’re part of the Unseelie Court.”

 

Sicheng clenches his jaw noticeably, and although Yangyang isn’t sure he should be proud of pulling a reaction out of him, he is. “How did you find out?”

 

“I’m half witch,” he says simply. “I sensed your aura. It’s too similar to my mother’s for you to be anything else.”

 

“Your mother?” Sicheng asks with narrowed eyes. He’s searching his appearance for anything that could bear resemblance to a Court member, but Yangyang knows he won’t find what he’s searching for.

 

“You don’t have to figure it out on your own,” he sighs, fully releasing the illusion he’d designed for himself. “You wouldn’t have found anything while I wore my illusion.” He taps his pointed ears and grins sharply. “I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but this is my true appearance.”

 

“You’re right,” Sicheng says coldly. “I don’t believe you.”

 

“Maybe I can convince you.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “No one knows the symbol of the Unseelie Court, yes?” Sicheng nods warily, and Yangyang smirks. “How about this then?” He pulls down the collar of his shirt, just enough for Sicheng to see the top half of the mark resting above his heart. The full mark is a deep purple and intricate bundle of flowers, all of them–

 

“–Hellebores,” Sicheng breathes, expression closed off and mouth tight. Yangyang fixes his shirt collar and looks at him seriously.

 

“Do you believe me now?” He takes Sicheng’s silence as a “yes.” “Now can you tell me how you escaped?”

 

“Why do you want to? Who do you have to escape from?”

 

Yangyang rolls his eyes. “The same reason you do. My mother’s too influential within the Unseelie Court for me to just leave, even though that’s definitely what everyone else wants me to do. I haven’t seen you being followed by any of the fae either.” He doesn’t miss the fact that Sicheng relaxes when he brings that up. “They don’t care about me, but they won’t let me go either. So how did you do it?”

 

Sicheng snorts. “You’re not going to like my answer.”

 

“Try me.”

 

“I faked my own death.” In a moment of silence, Yangyang stares at Sicheng in uncomprehending shock until the words finally register in his hand.

 

“You faked your own death,” he repeats slowly, and when Sicheng nods, he throws his head back against the couch he’s sitting on and groans. “Of course you had to fake your own death. Why would anything ever be easy? Sorry, you wanna break from our exclusive cult? You’ll have to die to get that freedom!” In between his ranting, he realizes that Sicheng is laughing, and he pauses his tirade to watch him. The harsh lines of his face had gotten softer, and Sicheng was literally glowing as he laughed. His nose scrunched cutely as if he was trying to stop himself as soon as he possibly could, and his eyes crinkled at the corners from the force of his smile. Yangyang isn’t paying attention to any of that.

 

“Wow,” Yangyang whispers, leaning forward. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an empty vial, left over from a previous field experiment. “I didn’t know pure-blood fae release fae dust when they laugh.” He mumbles a short spell to create a small wind funnel to transfer the fae dust in the air into his vial, and when Sicheng’s laughs die off and the dust stops filtering through the air, he corks the vial.

 

“You’re more witch than you are fae,” Sicheng points out, and Yangyang shrugs noncommittally.

 

“I grew up with my dad more my mother, so I’ve always taken after him more.” He recasts his illusion, and the pointy ears and green eyes vanish. “I modeled my illusion after him too. I thought it would make me blend in better with humans.”

 

“I wish I had that,” Sicheng grumbles. “All I have going for me is that my ears are less pointy, so it’s not that obvious. And I have to wear contacts all the time, just in case someone gets the idea of coming in for a house call and notices that my eyes are literally gold.” Yangyang winces sympathetically.

 

“I hate house calls. They’re always ridiculously entitled, come in at the worst time, and then get mad when you say that you can’t meet with them at the moment because you have more important issues.”

 

When Dejun, Kun, and Hendery finally return, at 5 pm, Yangyang and Sicheng are conversing over jasmine tea, somehow getting from the topic of unwanted visitors to how difficult it is to find authentic Longjing tea.

 

“I’ve tried finding Longjing tea in the market whenever I go to the Zhejiang Province, but you’re right, it’s practically impossible,” Yangyang whines, sitting with his legs crossed and his tea sitting on the table in front of him.

 

“I was born in Zhejiang, and it’s not a joke that finding authentic Longjing is like trying to sell your soul. You can only trust them if you get it from Hangzhou directly,” Sicheng says, rolling his eyes. “And even then, you still find some fakers.”

 

“Aren’t there a few varieties of Longjing tea?” Kun asks as a way to announce his arrival, giving Sicheng a quick kiss on the forehead before sitting down beside him. The fae beams happily and tucks himself into Kun’s side.

 

“A few. Shi Feng is the best, but also the one that people try hardest to fake, so good luck trying to find a credible seller.” Dejun smiles at Yangyang, and he returns it with equal force. Hendery happily takes a seat to the left of Yangyang and pours himself a cup of tea, and although Dejun is a bit slower to make it to Yangyang’s other side, he decides to lay his head in Yangyang’s lap and let his legs dangle over the armrest. Sicheng continues talking about the types of Longjing tea, but he and Kun don’t forget to give the two of them a surprised lift of their eyebrows. “Cloud Peak is reserved for government testing, so you don’t find tea from there on the open market.”

 

“We’re good at finding stuff in the underground market though!” Hendery chimes brightly, and Yangyang laughs while the other three sigh.

 

“I guess we are,” Sicheng says drily before continuing. “Tiger Spring is my favorite type because I can infuse it multiple times without losing its fragrance and flavor, and Meijiawu has a really pretty jade color. There are two other tea plants in the region, but one of them is technically Bai Pian and the other is Qiantang Longjing, but once you get out of Xihu it’s not worth much. Qiantang is grown away from the other four, so it’s not as desirable.”

 

“You know way too much about Longjing tea, Sicheng-gē,” Dejun remarks snidely, making a face as Sicheng glares at him.

 

“I’m sorry I’m actually cultured, Dejun. Maybe you could stand to have some of my enthusiasm rub off on you.”

 

“Oh dear, what will I do without knowing my tea culture?” Dejun gasps, his hand covering his mouth as if to prevent any more scandalous words from escaping. Yangyang giggles and runs his hand through Dejun’s hair, his smile softening as Dejun looks up at him fondly.

 

“Stop teasing Sicheng-gē, Junjun. He might decide to not bring you back any more souvenirs.” Dejun face falls a little at the thought, and Sicheng huffs victoriously.

 

“Fine,” he pouts, and had it not been for the laws of the land citing that Yangyang couldn’t kiss him in front of his “parents,” he would’ve kissed Dejun breathless then and there. As it was, he settled for a pat on his cheek and a brighter smile.

 

* * *

“So I’m going to have to pretend to die tonight,” Yangyang says to Dejun conversationally over a delicious meal of pad thai, courtesy of his friend Ten in culinary. And much like he expected, Dejun chokes on the noodles he was eating. While he waits for him to clear his throat and drink some water, Yangyang checks the time. He has another half hour before he has to leave to meet up with Renjun and Chenle.

 

“I’m sorry,” Dejun says hoarsely, “you have to pretend to die? Tonight? And you didn’t think to tell me this earlier?”

 

“I mean, when you put it like that it sounds bad. But I need to get the Court off my back,” Yangyang says simply, taking another bite of his noodles. Dejun continues to stare at him dumbfoundedly and he sighs, setting his chopsticks down. “This is what Sicheng told me to do, so if you have a problem with the plan, you can yell at him.”

 

“You didn’t have to listen to him though!” Dejun hisses, looking about two seconds from freaking out entirely, so Yangyang stands up and walks to Dejun’s side. He reaches out to rub Dejun’s arms comfortingly, although it doesn’t seem to do much to calm his thoughts. “Oh my god, am I going to have to pretend that you’re dead? I can’t contact you?”

 

“No, nothing like that,” Yangyang says, once again to try and comfort Dejun’s concerns. “Once the fae have no reason to think that I’m alive, they’ll leave me alone. They won’t think too hard about it anyway since I’m a half-blood.”

 

“Knowing you, you’ll find a way to accidentally get yourself killed for real,” Dejun shoots back with little anger.

 

“Renjun and Chenle will be with me,” he tries to justify.

 

“Oh yes, Renjun and Chenle, the epitome of adult responsibility,” Dejun says sarcastically, narrowing his eyes. “Renjun was the one who dared you to put that temporary silver dye in your hair–”

 

“–Hey, you said I looked good with that!”

 

Dejun waves him off. “That’s not the point. He’s impulsive and enabling. And wasn’t Chenle the one you told me released three pigs on his school grounds for his senior prank labeled Pig 1, Pig 2, and Pig 4? And let the admin chase around for a non-existent Pig 3 for five hours?”

 

Yangyang hesitates. “Maybe?”

 

“God, they’re a perfect match for each other,” he fumes. “Don’t you dare tell them I complimented their relationship.” Yangyang huffs.

 

“Like they have a relationship at all. They’ve been dancing around each other for a year. Renjun thinks Chenle likes Jisung and Chenle thinks Renjun is straight. The only thing straight about Renjun is that he’s straight up annoying.”

 

“Aish, why are we talking about them anyway? I’m more concerned about the fact that you think it’s okay to pretend to die.” Yangyang pouts at how quickly Dejun brought them back to the topic he’d been trying to ignore. Before he can protest that it’ll be perfectly safe, Dejun continues with his own plans. “I’m going to come with you.”

 

“W-what?” Yangyang stutters, and Dejun nods at him determinedly.

 

“This is the only way I know you’ll be safe.”

 

Yangyang would argue more, but he knows how stubborn Dejun can be, and he finds it ridiculously cute how intent he is on keeping him alive.

 

“Fine, fine,” he concedes. “We have to leave in twenty, so you might want to finish eating before that.” Dejun glances at his pad thai and shrugs.

 

“I’ll think better on a half-full stomach.”

 

“I’m pretty sure that’s not a thing.”

 

“It is now,” he argues, and even though Yangyang still isn’t fully convinced, he likes the playful look on Dejun’s face, so he leaves it at that.

 

* * *

“You know, when you told me to wait until you’d passed out, I thought you meant you were going to fake it,” Renjun remarks, throwing a change of clothes at Yangyang’s shivering body. “How was I supposed to know that you would fall into the river?”

 

“The least you could’ve done,” he hisses, jabbing a finger in Renjun’s direction, “was cast a drying spell on me. At least then I wouldn’t feel like a walking icicle.”

 

“Cast a drying spell on yourself!” Renjun retorts with a raised eyebrow, walking over and shutting the bathroom door in Yangyang’s face, leaving him to figure his situation out on his own. He hears a faint meow on the other side of the door and sighs.

 

“Hang on, Junjun, I have to change.” He strips out of his soaked shirt and pants and dries his body as best as he could with one of the towels in the bathroom. He eyes the clothes that Renjun had thrown at him and decides that the oversized olive green sweater isn’t hideous, and paired with the black joggers, it should be fine. Begrudgingly, he acknowledges that Renjun has a decent aesthetic taste.

 

When he steps out, Dejun is lying like a starfish on the bed, and when he hears the bathroom door open and close, he looks over with a tired smile.

 

“Maybe you should have told me what the plan was so I wouldn’t freak out.”

 

“Actually, falling in the river wasn’t part of the plan,” he answers sheepishly, ignoring the way Dejun’s eyes widen. “The plan was for Chenle to use his connection to the spirits to get into everyone’s heads and use the voices of their ancestors to convince them that I had died while Renjun teleported me back to him. But I guess I really managed to knock myself out cause instead of staying standing like I was supposed to, I just fell backward.”

 

“You’re so stupid, Yangie,” Dejun sighs exasperatedly, wrapping himself around Yangyang’s body once he was on the bed with him. “It was nice of Renjun to offer us his bed for the night,” he mumbles, already falling asleep, and Yangyang coos quietly.

 

“So kind of him, of course. Least he could do after he let me risk hypothermia.” A sleepy chuckle escapes from Dejun, and he snuggles tighter against Yangyang. A smile stretches across Yangyang’s lips and he presses a brief kiss to Dejun’s forehead. “Good night, Junjun.”

 

“Night, Yangie.”

 

* * *

Kun and Sicheng had invited him over to dinner at their house as a “congratulations on convincing the fae that you died!” event. They’d also extended that invitation, rather needlessly in his opinion, to Renjun and Chenle, and the two of them had take it upon themselves to settle onto Yangyang’s bed and provide commentary on what outfit he should wear.

 

“You can not wear that abomination,” Renjun says vehemently, narrowing his eyes at the olive cargo shorts Yangyang had pulled out. He rolls his eyes melodramatically.

 

“Chill out, Huishan Zhang. I’m trying to find my acid-wash jeans.”

 

“Acid-wash? At my family dinner? Spicy,” Chenle quips from where he’s laying across the length of the bed, head in Renjun’s lap. He gets a pair of olive cargo shorts thrown at his face for his efforts.

 

“Hey!” Renjun protests, carefully picking the shorts off of Chenle and then throwing them back at Yangyang. “Don’t attack him, he’s done nothing wrong in his life.” Chenle starts rambling about how Renjun is his hero, saving him from the “big, bad bully,” and Yangyang takes that as his cue to space out of their conversation.

 

He takes Chenle’s joke a little too seriously and starts second-guessing his choice of acid-wash. Maybe he’d look too much like a delinquent. Weren’t acid-washes the trend these days? Kun and Sicheng shouldn’t mind anyway, he’d been to their house quite a few times now. It didn’t matter, he’d already made up his mind to find something else. He has a few other sets of skinny jeans, so he gets to work trying to find a pair that matched the pale blue button-up he’d decided on after throwing his shorts at Chenle.

 

“Is this good?” he asks, interrupting Renjun and Chenle’s banter to show them the button-up paired with his pair of pure white jeans. They look him over, eyeing the way he tucked the front of the button-up in on one half of the front and not the other and glancing at each other for a silent discussion. Renjun nods at him.

 

“You look good,” he says. “Add some subtle blue glitter on your eyeshadow.”

 

“It’ll make your whole face look softer to match the more innocent vibe the outfit gives off.” Yangyang sighs and goes to the bathroom to carry out Renjun’s suggestion after Chenle supported it. “And wear those white converse you have!”

 

“They might get dirty!”

 

“So might your pants, get over it!” Yangyang snorts at Renjun’s easy rebuttal and, in part thanks to their playful animosity, feels a little better about the whole situation. Say what you would about Huang Renjun, – and trust him, there was a lot to say – but he knew how to take Yangyang’s mind off of whatever was bugging him.

 

The walk to Dejun’s house is short, only about fifteen minutes, so Renjun didn’t have much time to grill Yangyang about the details. He knew the basics – he would be meeting Kun, Sicheng, Hendery, and Dejun – and that he couldn’t be his Grade A Asshole persona if he wanted to keep his pretty face. He’d have to pull it down to at least a Grade C Asshole. Chenle had to spend the rest of the time consoling a pouting Renjun, and Yangyang snickered while texting Dejun the whole play-by-play. He was more invested in getting Renjun and Chenle together than Yangyang was, and he’d been their friend for two years now.

 

“Alright guys, we’re here.” Yangyang extends an arm and bows in front of the path leading to the door. “After you. You are our esteemed guests after all.”

 

“Yeah, but isn’t this party being thrown in your honor?” Renjun snarks back, pointing out his flawed logic with a smug grin. Yangyang sticks his tongue out childishly and straightens.

 

“Fine, throw me to the wolves, why don’t you. Might as well have left me in that river.” His phone rings, interrupting his tirade, and Yangyang picks it up immediately. Only Dejun has a specialized ring tone in his contacts, which he was sure would get excessive complaints from Renjun later. “Hey Junjun, we’re just outside your house.”

 

“I know, I can see you being a drama queen from my bedroom window. Get in here, I’m starving!”

 

“Hey, you should be nicer to me,” Yangyang whines, but he dutifully walks to the door and knocks on it. “I’m the reason you’re getting all this nice food.” The door opens to reveal Dejun’s bright smile.

 

“That doesn’t mean anything, I’m Kun’s favorite.” Yangyang ends the call and smiles back.

 

“I’m pretty sure Hendery is his favorite, but believe what you want, Junjunnie.” He lands a quick kiss on Dejun’s cheek and has to purse his lips to stop the goofy, lovesick smile that threatens to split across his face when Dejun blushes. He misses the confused look that Renjun and Chenle exchange with each other, along with Hendery’s surprised face peeking out of the kitchen.

 

“Kun-gē, Sicheng-gē, Yangyang and his friends are here,” he says loudly, and Kun answers from the dining room on the other side of the house.

 

“Bring them over, we’ve already got the plates set out.” Sicheng steps out of the doorway of the living room and gives Yangyang a small beginning of a grin.

 

“Congrats, little sheep, you finally got the wolves off your trail,” he teases, referencing a small secret Yangyang had told him. He lets yet another smile overcome his face and he laughs, bright and loud.

 

“Let’s hope they find bigger prey to catch,” he plays along, swinging an arm around Dejun’s waist. “Did you even bother to help make the food?”

 

“Kun-gē hates when Sicheng-gē tries to help him because the last five times ended up with a small fire in places that fires shouldn’t have been possible,” Hendery answers, joining them in the hall. “Now come on, Kun-gē makes the most amazing poached duck and I can hear it calling my name.”

 

They all settle themselves around the table, and after a quick introduction so that Chenle and Renjun weren’t completely lost, they start eating. Hendery wasn’t lying when he said Kun’s poached duck was amazing. The flavors that burst on his tongue could rival anything his mother made, and privately he thought it was even better. His white cut chicken and jook-sing noodles were fragrant and delicious, and even though Yangyang’s stomach was no longer used to eating a full meal anymore, he thought it would be such a waste to not, at the very least, try everything. He’s never exactly been amazing at taking care of himself and Renjun could testify to that, if the sour looks he received all throughout dinner were any indication.

 

“Don’t get a stomachache,” he warns during a lull in the conversation, and Yangyang waves him off.

 

“I don’t care how much my stomach will hurt. That’s a future-me problem. Current-me wants to start a new religion called Kunism and worship his cooking skills.”

 

“Kun, the god of food,” Sicheng tacks on, restraining his obvious giggles. Kun releases a suffering sigh and levels a half-hearted glare at his boyfriend.

 

“I thought you were better than them.”

 

“Guess it’s time for a reevaluation,” Chenle pipes up, sending Hendery and Sicheng over the edge with a simple statement from someone who had spent most of the dinner quietly observing everything. He grins menacingly and Kun stares at him unerringly.

 

“You’re dangerous,” he says, pointing at Chenle with his chopsticks before returning to his dinner. The conversation dies for a moment before Hendery speaks again.

 

“So are you guys a thing?” he asks, directly staring at Yangyang and Dejun as he did. All attention turns to the two of them sitting side by side, and they turn to stare at each other blankly.

 

“Yeah, I wanted to ask too but I figured it wasn’t my place,” Chenle says, shrugging.

 

Now that Yangyang thinks about it, he has no idea if they’re a thing.

 

“Are we a thing?” he asks, turning to Dejun with a confused frown. Dejun continues to stare at him blankly.

 

“Well, I damn hope we’re a thing, cause I’m pretty sure I don’t tell just anyone that I’m dreadfully terrified of a goatman materializing in my room during sleep paralysis,” he deadpans, and Renjun can’t hold back his startled laughter. “Case in point,” he continues, pointing at Renjun.

 

“But–”

 

“–and I’m pretty sure I haven’t kissed anyone else lately, so unless you have something to tell me, I’m pretty sure we’re a thing,” he says, raising an eyebrow as a challenge.

 

“Of course I haven’t kissed anyone else, but we didn’t exactly say anything about it,” Yangyang says defensively, pouting.

 

“I took you out on multiple dates and we’ve slept in the same bed. Yangie, you’re pretty dense.”

 

“And this, kids, is a lesson in miscommunication,” Sicheng says lightly, smirking at Yangyang’s predicament.

 

“So are we done clearing the air about our relationship?” Dejun asks. Yangyang throws his hands up in a shrug and uses them to express his baffled emotion.

 

“Not yet, I still don’t know what we are!”

 

Dejun sighs and shuts him up for a solid two seconds with a kiss on the lips. The lips. They hadn’t gone that far yet, Yangyang thinks in the back of his barely functioning mind. It’s kind of embarrassing that they’d done it in front of Dejun’s family and Yangyang’s friends, who would continue to hold it over their heads forever, but he also likes it a little too much to care. When he pulls back, Yangyang thinks his pulsing aura betrays his calm appearance.

 

“Then let’s be boyfriends,” he says simply, and Yangyang nods a little dumbfoundedly.

 

“Ok. Ok yeah. Boyfriends,” he repeats, testing the word on his tongue and finding that he likes it a lot.

 

“You know, my mooncakes don’t stand a chance against this sweetness,” Kun remarks, breaking Yangyang out of his hazy trance. He turns to him with betrayal clear on his face, and Kun smirks. “This is payback for Kunism.”

 

“You can’t do this to me,” he whines, but Dejun’s fingers reaching for and intertwining with his own makes the situation sting a little less.

 

“Don’t worry, we can always get some of that flan that Ten is always managing to oversweeten to prove Kun wrong,” he offers, voice full of mirth.

 

“Ten’s overly sweet flan is not something I want to be thinking about right now,” Renjun decides. “Kun-gē, if that offer of mooncakes is real, I would die for them.”

 

“You will,” Dejun says, and Hendery laughs with him as Renjun stares at them with a half-concerned expression.

 

“Sounds promising.”

 

Two helpings of mooncakes later, they’re all piled in the living room of the house. Renjun and Chenle offered to sit on the floor, and they were in their typical position – Chenle lying with his head in Renjun’s lap, almost like he doesn’t want to lose sight of him. Yangyang thinks that it’s ridiculously sweet, but he doesn’t say anything about it because he doesn’t want Renjun to call him out on the position he and Dejun are in. Dejun’s head is resting on his shoulder and he’s curled up against his side, and Yangyang’s head is resting on top of Dejun’s. It’s relatively comfortable, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel different now that he could pinpoint what they were: boyfriends.

 

Kun and Sicheng were arguing over which genre of movie to watch – Kun wanted a romantic comedy while Sicheng insisted on horror – while Hendery sneakily snatched the remote and turned on the first Avengers movie, which was the only good one in Yangyang’s opinion. He looks down at Dejun, doing nothing to hide how fond his expression is, and Dejun looks up, smiling softly.

 

“Hey boyfriend,” he whispers, like saying the word out loud makes it more real.

 

“Hey yourself,” Dejun whispers back.

 

Being with Dejun was something he’d long gotten used to. Being Dejun’s boyfriend – now that’s something new and unexplored, and for the strangest reason, he isn’t scared.

 

“I have something for you. I wanted to give it to you a while ago, but I never really found the right moment to bring it up.” Dejun looks at him curiously, and Yangyang shifts to pull something out of his pocket. In the relative darkness of the living room, the small crystal cat seems to glow at the end of its leather necklace. “It’s kind of a mood charm. It’s connected to mine because I infused them with the same energy, and it basically allows you to feel my mood when you touch it,” he explains, letting Dejun take it into his hands and examine it. “Mine’s in the shape of a pointy hat,” he adds, and the irony of the charms isn’t missed by Dejun.

 

“You think you’re so clever,” he bites without any real malice, and even despite his words, he slips the necklace on. Yangyang smiles contentedly and settles his head on Dejun’s again and lets himself be pulled into the beginning of the movie.

 

Neither of them had to touch their charms to feel the other’s happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> [my twitter!](https://twitter.com/timelessidyll)   
>  [my curiouscat!](https://curiouscat.me/timelessidyll)


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